For King and Church
by keil7777777
Summary: Originally intended as a fantasy novel for Magic The Gathering, and we even started our own block with it. Rated for violence. Don't expect timely updates, but plz R&R!
1. Prologue

_When the world is held in a single room_ _and Death walks the land, the child of the chaste shall arise to strike down the evil seeking to devour the world._

The assassin sat crouched near the corner of the gate marking the Archbishop's manor. He had been waiting there all day: no food, no rest. His muscles ached from his endless vigil. Such was the price of his craft. He didn't mind. He would do anything asked of him if it pleased the master. Even so, the hours seemed to stretch into oblivion. It wouldn't be too much longer though. Even as he watched, the guard was beginning to nod off. It would've been much easier to just kill the guard and enter, but for this mission to be successful he must remain hidden for at least a little while. A body would…complicate things. Eventually, the guard was snoring softly, and the assassin made his move. He leaped the gate and crossed the front yard quickly. The glow of twilight allowed him to see where he was going while simultaneously masking his progress. He passed the guard and a hint of amusement crossed his face. Apparently the years of peace had dulled the Holy Guards' edge. They were no longer the feared warriors of old. The assassin turned back toward the ornate entryway of the palace. It didn't even have a lock, symbolizing the Clergyman's trust of the people. Foolish old man. He will know the error of his ways before the night ends.

The doors opened silently, a testament to the builder's skill. The halls were completely still. No servants, holy men, or watchmen broke the silence. Truly the defenses had become slack with disuse. The assassin passed through many doors and halls, moving with the certainty of someone with incredibly accurate reconnaissance. It was only a matter of minutes before he arrived at the Archbishop's room. He readjusted his vizard, checking that his face was still covered and his identity hidden. He slowly opened the door and peered inside.

The Archbishop was still awake, going over work even at this late hour. He was shuffling papers around, occasionally stopping to scrawl his name on a proposal of some sort. He pushed up his glasses as he looked up towards the door.

"Well, come on in." The archbishop rumbled in a deep voice. "Don't just stand there in the door like a lost child looking for his mother. Surely you have some business here other than admiring my beauty." The assassin twitched, momentarily startled by his discovery. He quickly composed himself and walked calmly into the room.

"Archbishop Elias, I have come on behalf of my master. He wishes you to be…removed from the picture." The assassin spoke in a smooth voice matching his flowing movements.

"Surely your master would have a name? Bah, I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm getting too old for this job anyway. I've not the power I once had. Pity though, that I won't get to experience retirement. You wouldn't be interested in coming back a few years from now, would you?" The assassin moved behind the clergyman's chair, pulling a long dagger from it's sheath.

"My master does indeed have a name, but dead men need not know it. As for the rest, our plans don't account for your retirement. So in response to your request for a rain-check, not on your life." The assassin emitted a short laugh at the irony as he plunged the dagger into Elias's chest. Elias slumped over the desk as the assassin removed his blade and wiped it on the back of the Archbishop's robes. He turned to the window and slipped out into the darkness. It would be a long trip back to the master, and his report of success couldn't wait. The plan had been set into motion and the consequences irreversible. Let the pieces fall where they may.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

In the Royal City Ocoristo, on the other side of the continent Thesonyos, the sun was beginning to set. Red streaks of light were piercing the sky and illuminating the clouds in a similarly colored glow. Two figures stood in an enclosed courtyard practicing swordplay. They were standing in the center, where a thin layer of grass barely managed to cover the hard ground underneath. A fountain in the corner gurgled softly, adding only a little to the ambience of bird calls and the steady clacking of wood colliding. The two soldiers, as they obviously were to be practicing so late, had been going at it for hours. To the untrained eye, they appeared equal in speed and skill, but any true soldier could tell you that the older fighter was holding back. Careful examination of the sparring soldiers revealed many things. Although neither was in full uniform, their pants matched, implying that they were in the same company. Their faces were both worn and tanned from excess sun exposure, but the facial constructions differed enough to rule out direct relation. The younger of the two had jet-black hair that exploded out from his head. Underneath it, his brown eyes squinted in the failing light and sweat beaded on his forehead before streaking down the sides of his face. His companion, who was about five years older, had searing blonde hair, tied back in a ponytail. The most noticeable difference was the unnerving blue eyes partially hidden beneath a lock of hair. The battling duo finished another bout before the younger thrust his weapon into the dirt.

"Whew, Kylen. You run me down anymore and you'll be facing a court marshal for murder." The tired soldier set down heavily, resting on the training sword. The older fighter, Kylen, also sat down.

"You know as well as I do that we need to be in good shape in case this mess with the church comes to blows. If we were to actually see some fighting, you wouldn't last a minute. The Holy Guards are world renowned fighters. Not to mention all the high level mages that dwell within the church ranks."

"I won't be in very good shape at all if you make me too sore to move. My arms and legs already feel like wet paper. How would I fight then? Give 'em a nasty paper cut? THAT will send them all running."

"I highly doubt it, Zaion." Kylen looked over at his comrade with a disapproving glare. Zaion scowled back in return.

"It was a joke! I wasn't being serious."

"Neither was I. I doubt they would run away from a paper cut if they already survived your terrifying looks. Why run from a hare if you already survived the bear?" Kylen started laughing as Zaion tossed a rock at him. "See! You DO still have some fight left in you! That means we can train more!" Zaion groaned and laid down just as Kylen took to his feet, grabbing the practice sword as he rose. "Now up on your feet, before I show you why very few people ever win a battle on their back. Come on, come on. We haven't got all night."

Zaion was just getting to his feet, muttering expletives and other derogatory phrases when the double doors behind him burst open. A thin young man half ran and half stumbled in the courtyard. He had really short brown hair and his face was smooth as a baby's, meaning he wasn't yet old to shave; and therefore not yet old enough to wield a blade. Still, he was eager enough to join the King's army, and the recruiters were always looking for message runners. The boy stopped to briefly catch his breath, huffing and puffing enough for three marathons. Once he composed himself he straightened his back and gave a crisp salute.

"Colonel Kylen, Sir! All active members of the military are required to attend an emergency meeting! Both you and Lieutenant Colonel Zaion are ordered to attend, Sir!" Kylen gave an exasperated sigh as he closed his eyes and began massaging his forehead.

"Cut the crap, Mao. What's all this about?" Mao resumed his previous slouched posture, dropping the salute.

"Dunno Kylen. No one does. Some are saying that we're going to start marching. Others think this is just another promotion ceremony. I'm hoping for the latter. You two are both way over due to become generals. Probably the youngest in military history too!" Zaion snorted and he stood up and brushed some dirt off his pants.

"The higher ups would've given us a little more notice if it was a promotion ceremony. This has got to be pretty important for us to get a call from training. Do you still have some soldiers to catch?" Mao jerked upright, remembering his duties.

"Oh man, I'm gonna get the whip if I don't get more soldiers! I'll see you guys later…uh…I mean…Permission to leave Sir?" Kylen waved his hand and Mao took off back through the doors. Zaion walked over to the weapons rack and replaced the practice sword. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Well Kylen, I guess the punishment will have to wait until later. We have a meeting to attend, you know." Kylen also replaced his weapon.

"Yeah yeah, don't get smug. We WILL resume practice later. Now here, wipe yourself off." Kylen threw Zaion a towel. "You smell like you died and came back to life."

- - - - - - - -

King Mateu Tobakado was young to be the ruler of a country, let alone a continent, as the situation currently stood. He had yet to see even twenty summers, despite being the Crowned Ruler of Thesonyos and father of a young prince. He didn't have much choice in the matter. When his mother and father both contracted a rare and deadly disease, it was left to him to lead. After their deaths he was required by custom to have an heir and secure the bloodline. The Prince Aedan was born when King Mateu was barely fourteen. But no matter his actual age, the king held himself in such a calm and composed demeanor that he seemed wise enough for fifty summers. His prodigious military sense and exceptional political mind enabled him to reunite the continent under one banner. From the hardened nomads of the Daeil Wastes to the pirate raiders of the Western Coasts, peace had finally been reached. And yet it couldn't last. King Mateu's infamous luck must have wavered at just the wrong time. Now he sat overlooking his armies and preparing to tell them most dire news: war approached. The soldiers were milling about, talking excitedly about the nature of this address. They numbered in the tens of thousands, some in full uniform while others had only pants and shirts. They had all gathered here, near the palace walls, to hear this new declaration from their king. Rylynt, the King's personal advisor and attendant, cleared his throat.

"Sire. Sire? Your Highness? King Mateu?!" Rylynt was almost yelling to get the young King's attention. The King just sighed and closed his eyes in a tired manner.

"I've told you a million times Rylynt, call me Mat, like my father did. Lord knows you are about as close as I have to a parent anymore." Mat looked at the advisor and sighed again. "Lucky me."

"Yes, well, sire…erm…I mean…Mat. I believe your army is awaiting your speech. They seem to be growing impatient.

"So they are. I was merely waiting for everyone to be in attendance. What I have to say is too important for anyone to miss." He stood and started for the balcony. "Better get to it, I suppose.

As the King approached the balcony, the massive armed force began to cheer. The shining palace walls glared red in the waning sunlight, but, through clever manipulation of mother-of-pearl in the design, they illuminated the King's regal figure. He stood at the balcony suspended a hundred feet in the air. The setting sun cast a blood red hue on the military force below, giving the false impression that they were already in full uniform. The Ocoristan soldier was known for his reddened armor. It hid blood, making the soldiers seem invincible in battle. Still, the soldiers weren't currently IN uniform due to the urgency of his summons. He might as well start.

"My loyal subjects and countrymen! Brothers and Sisters-at-arms. I have called you here in the utmost urgency to inform you of an issue at hand. As of today, the Church has gathered an army to march on Ocoristo." A low murmur spread across those gathered. "I know it seems illogical, but our own scouts confirmed it. More likely than not it is an Abbott or Abbess jumping to conclusions. He or she probably holds us responsible for the recent assassination of Archbishop Elias. As such, they do not represent the church. I cannot stress this enough. Since this is only a minor force, we must assume the defensive. A direct assault could provoke the church into all out war. I am requesting a small force to dispatch as the front defensive lines. I cannot spare a general, or too many soldiers, as either would cast suspicion on our motives. It has been brought to my attention that there is a Colonel in our ranks on par with our current Generals. Would Colonel Kylen please step forward?"

A soldier made his way through the throng of soldiers. He was wearing only training pants and a towel around his neck. He was of muscular build, but lean enough to achieve deadly speeds. Even in the failing light, his golden hair shone like the noonday sun.

"I am Kylen, your highness. If you ask it of me, I would gladly give my life in service to the crown." Mat just laughed.

"Yes, as would many here today. But you can serve me better alive than dead. I'd not delve into the Forbidden Arts just to raise you back from the dead."

"I understand your majesty. If I may be so bold, might I ask a favor in return?" A few soldiers gaped in surprise as another murmur of conversation spread through the ranks. Rylynt stood hastily and approached the railing.

"You insolent cur! To openly make demands of the king could be considered treason! You should be honored to even talk to the King!" Mat placed a calming hand on the Aide's shoulder.

"Hold, Rylynt. A General would do well to show as much initiative. And," Mat's gaze returned to Kylen, "Should he succeed I would gladly see him become one. Now ask your request."

"Your Majesty, I simply ask that I might choose my own men to accompany me. Loyalty accounts for much on the field of battle and I feel that doing so would greatly increase our chance of survival.

"Spoken like a General already. You may choose your own men. Just be sure that your own loyalties never falter." A hint of a smile briefly touched his lips. "I would rue the day someone of your caliber ever found themselves among the ranks of my enemies. Now that this is settled…" Kylen bowed deeply, muttering his thanks as he blended back into the crowd. "the rest of you must be prepared for any eventuality. Should the church itself take up arms, we need to stand ready. War would ensue, followed quickly by civil unrest among the citizens as their places of worship close. Continue to train hard and push yourself through the pain, for the sting of death would be worse tenfold. You are all dismissed." Some of the men bowed as they left, but most pretenses of ceremony had been abandoned after Kylen's shocking request. Mat returned to his chair with a smile on his face. Rylynt, however, was anything but happy.

"Sire! Mat! How could you let him talk to you like that. You are just encouraging his behavior! Letting him talk to you in such a way could also lead to people seeing weakness in your rule. If you give men like him an inch they will take a mile."

"Rylynt, what do you think is the main difference is between him and my other generals? He has plenty of experience and could match if not best many of my current generals. His men obey him and, despite his slightly rash tongue, he is loyal to me. Why do you think he is unworthy for the title?"

"It is not his qualifications, sire, but more his age. He is…" Rylynt made eye contact with his king and realized what he was saying. "Ah…what I mean is…"

"What you mean is only people of a certain age can be great leaders. What you are implying is that I myself am not worthy of the title king. What you have spoken is both treason and insulting! You would do well to guard your own tongue better, lest I take it from you. And from what I hear, mute advisors don't last very long." Mat's gaze never left the advisor's eyes, and Rylynt couldn't look away.

"My humblest apologies sire. I didn't mean–" The king cut him off.

"Forget it. Now go check on the prince. He should be asleep by now. Quickly! Before my forgiving mood should turn for the worse." Rylynt fled hurriedly, almost breaking into a run as he headed for the stairs. Mat's smile grew and he leaned back in his chair. That pompous airbag needed to be deflated regularly to keep his strings within reach. The king stood and returned to the palace, satisfied of the day's occurrences. If Kylen was as good as he thought, then his luck might hold yet.

- - - - - - - -

Back in the practice yard, the two soldiers had resumed their training. The steady wooden clack was accompanied only by the incessant chirping of crickets and the rumbling croaks of nearby bullfrogs. The two bodies almost danced in tandem, becoming blurs as they whirled. Instead of the normal practice swords, the two were using quarterstaffs, the long straight poles that were weighted on each end to feel more like a spear. Their intricate display of skill seemed all the more impressive in the dim shadowy light cast by the nearby lanterns. Kylen, seeing an opening, took a chance and jabbed forward. Zaion skirted sideways, the tip of Kylen's weapon grazing his chest. Zaion looped his arm around the weapon and fell backwards, wrenching the quarterstaff from Kylen's grasp. Once Kylen's weapon touched the ground, Zaion used it as a launching point, shooting back up towards Kylen. Zaion also went for the stab, but turned it aside at the last second. As Kylen was still strafing to avoid the stab, he came into contact, headfirst, with the butt of Zaion's staff. Kylen fell to the ground, dazed by the blow. Zaion laughed as he assisted Kylen back to his feet.

"Heh, maybe you'll finally learn something now that I've beaten it into that thick skull of yours. Try as you might, you won't be able to best me with the spear."

"Maybe not, but pick any other weapon and I'll come out ahead." Kylen held his head, rubbing the spot where the staff made contact. "I've been thinking about how many men we should take and where exactly we should meet the enemy." It was about that time when Mao came bursting into the clearing, again.

"Kylen! Zaion! Look! I've finally done it, I've finally been admitted into the Army! I have the papers right here!" Mao was bursting with energy, waving the papers everywhere. "Now you can take me with you to help fight!" Kylen quickly closed the distance between them, taking the papers from Mao's outstretched hand.

"Let me see those. Hmm…well, I guess it's official. Congratulations, I hear Colonel Joido is very good at training new recruits." Zaion also joined the pair as Kylen returned the papers. He was chuckling to himself as Mao's eyes opened wide in realization.

"Joido? That old goat? He will send you running back to your mother's apron, likely as not. Come now, Kylen. Surely you can find it in your heart to let our little fighter-in-training join us." Mao looked back up at Kylen, hope beginning to register on his face.

"Yes, Kylen! I can help you guys! Zaion can help me train with the bow and spear while you teach me the sword and unarmed combat. I already know how to ride a horse, so I won't slow you down. I promise to learn quickly, especially since I know the basics from watching you guys all the time. Please?" Kylen just sighed, lowering his head.

"I wasn't planning on having to look out for a novice while fighting some of the most reputable fighters in Thesonyos. Very well, I guess we have no other choice. I would never knowingly commit someone to the cruel and unusual torture of Colonel Joido."

"YES!!" Mao leapt into the air, nearly crushing his assignment papers. He ran over to give Kylen a hug. Kylen stopped him with one hand, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner. Mao cleared his throat and tried to contain his excitement. He bowed deeply, murmuring his thanks to both Kylen and Zaion. Zaion laughed, tossing Mao another quarter staff.

"We should get started if you want a chance at surviving against Holy Guard or any of the Church's spell casters." Kylen also readied his weapon.

"Two on one, then? It will force you to divide your attention, strong against me and lenient on Mao. Confuse us once and you could either injure our protégé or fall to my attack. This way we all become more prepared for Pyth Laeorem." Mao lowered his weapon, confusion registering across his face.

"Pyth Laeorem? The small town on the edge of the Daeil Wastes? Why would we go there?" Zaion answered, but his face never left the concentrated focus as he prepared for the duel.

"That, young Mao, will be lesson two: Strategy."


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

As the noonday sun reached the pinnacle of the blue, cloudless skies, Sheena couldn't help but squint as the glare of the Daeil Wastes nearly blinded her. She had one hand pressed up sideways to her forehead, creating a small amount of shade in the otherwise blistering heat. Under normal circumstances, travelers and pilgrims would halt their progress to avoid overexposure and other health risks associated with these traveling conditions. But not her, not now. She was marching with all her loyal subjects to avenge the Archbishop. Those fools in the Abbey would rather sit and discuss policy and politics than demand retribution. After the Archbishop was assassinated, the Abbey was divided. Abbotts and Abbesses alike clamored for information. Who was to succeed Elias? Who was responsible for the murder? What reasons could they possibly have for such atrocities? Eventually they collectively decided that the best course of action was to wait for the Archbishop's will to be read. Sheena, however, disagreed with this decision. Sheena was convinced that there was only one person who could demand Elias's life: the King, Mateu. While the Abbey struggled to find leadership, the king could easily take over the church. Mateu was, after all, a renowned tactician. If he marched on Tultari in its weakened state, he could conquer the entire continent! Sheena refused to allow the king the opportunity. She asked the Abbey's permission to march on Ocoristo. After they refused her request, she gathered her forces and marched anyway. Now, as they crossed the wastes, she clung tightly to her resolve. She would stop this power hungry king and become a hero for the church. They would see the error of their ways and elect her as the new Archbishop. All she had to do was cross the wastes and she would be within days of Ocoristo. Sheena looked at her troops. Most were rash, new recruits barely able to wield the Rod. But as long as they agreed with her choice to march and were willing to fight to protect the church, they were welcome. Others were more senior members of her council. Whether or not they agreed with her was uncertain at best, but their loyalty to her and her family was unquestionable. They would fight to the death if need be, even if they doubted the cause. Thus was the power of their faith. One of the younger recruits approached her.

"Abbess Sheena? Perhaps we should stop for rest. An hour's pause should leave us able to march harder when it is cooler. We all have the drive to continue, but morale falls." Sheena took another look at her troops. Many were sweating under the long white robes of the clergy, leaning on their rods for support. The few Holy Guard she had with her looked to be on the verge of collapse, their heavy armor making walking a difficult task. The young recruit next to her paused for a moment as Sheena took in the factors. He continued once her gaze returned to him. "If we marched hard, we could easily make Pyth Laeorem by nightfall. The inns there would be welcome change from the hard packed earth on which we now trod." Sheena stared at the recruit intently, lost in thought. He was young, very young. Fifteen at the latest. Yet he wore the robes of a Shepherd, and carried a rod with a large white pearl at the tip. Shepherds were the spell casters of the church. When they were of high enough age and skill, Shepherds were allowed to enter the Abbey as an Abbott or Abbess. The Abbey, a collective group of powerful mages, were the highest ranked individuals next to the Archbishop himself. For someone so young to be so high in rank was…impressive. The pearl symbolized that he was a defense mage, someone whose magic focused on self-preservation and the healing of allies. They were highly regarded, but few ever made it to Shepherd. The defense arts were tricky to wield, and a single false cast could cut the mage's career short. This particular mage must be destined for great things.

"What is your name, Shepherd?"

"Ma'am?"

"Your name, Shepherd, what is it?"

"Well, it's Mikal…"

"Alright, Mikal, we will break for a short while, an hour at most. Make sure everyone is in top condition for the march ahead. I will have you running if it means making it to Pyth Laeorem by nightfall." Mikal nodded, smiling gently.

"Yes ma'am! I'll inform the troops the troops right away!" Mikal quickly set about, stopping the soldiers and healing any sore feet along the way. Sheena set down her pack, taking a seat on the softer bedroll. Many soldiers clasped Mikal on the shoulder or patted him on the back as he passed. Maybe, after she became Archbishop, she would submit Mikal up for entry into the Abbey. He was young, yes, but obviously brave and popular with the troops. He would likely be a shoe-in as the youngest Abbott on record. And having one so loyal to her wouldn't hurt either.

A small dust devil whirled a few feet away, an oddity without even a breeze to accompany it. Her troops were already settling down, taking brief naps or playing a round of cards. Gamboling was discouraged among the clergy, but the Holy Guard had no such qualms. An area off the path was designated as a latrine, and a few were already making use of the opportunity. Very little privacy was allowable, primarily because there was no way to ensure any privacy. The landscape was bleak; no trees, buildings, or land formations broke the horizon. There was very little vegetation that could survive in such a hostile environment. The Daeil Wastes were aptly named. Sheena leaned back on her pack, closing her eyes to the sun overhead. She would give them a little more than a half an hour. Despite their complaints, saving the continent from a tyrant's rule simply couldn't wait. Neither, she added mentally, could her desire for a soft bed.

- - - - - - - -

Kylen sat at a table with his best men gathered around. On the table lay a map of Pyth Laeorem, with all sorts of markings and notes scribbled on it. Zaion stood next to him, eyes moving back and forth from soldier to soldier. Kylen leaned forward, brushing off some dust that had settled on the yellowed parchment.

"Are we all clear on the assignments?" Everyone present nodded their assent, eyes all focused on Kylen. "Then once more for luck. Zaion will be leading Force B while I lead Force A. When the Abbot and his forces arrive, Force B will volley arrows here," Kylen pointed to the westernmost part of the town, marking the border of the wastes, "from the safety of the hills to the northeast or southeast. Remember that the first volley is only a show of force, so aim short or far, but no casualties. After that, I will address the Abbott, informing him to turn back from his current path or risk the penalties. Should he persist in his folly, I'll give the signal for the second volley. I will return to cover, as you should now be aiming for the kill. When I give the cry to charge, Force A will emerge and charge, giving Force B time to circle. Force A will act as a wedge, splitting their soldiers. B will then draw spears and ride into their flanks. Timing is crucial here! Charge early and their forces will huddle together. Charge late and Force A will be surrounded and likely routed. Give neither mercy nor reprieve, for they seek to attack the king himself." As Kylen finished, a Blue jay called out. It was the signal: the Abbot was in sight. "Quickly! To places!" The soldiers dispersed in a fluid motion, each already knowing his or her own assigned spot. Mao remained behind, approaching Kylen once he was free.

"Kylen! I know you assigned me to Force B, but won't you please reconsider?" In the past week, Mao had trained as diligently as any other recruit Kylen had ever seen. Although he wasn't on par with either Zaion or himself, Mao had certainly progressed from the meager skills he had started with.

"I've told you a million times, Mao. I need you to lead the southeastern charge. Zaion is the best commander I have, but even he can't be in two places simultaneously. He will be in the northeastern half, so I need someone else I can trust with my life. If I died, I could never forgive myself. Same goes for if you died, so protect yourself out there" Mao grinned at Kylen's rough humor, but still hesitated.

"Fine, but as soon as we charge I'm coming to your side. I don't care if I have to run through the whole Abbey, I won't let you die. You and Zaion are the only good things I have left." He gave Kylen a serious look before turning and heading for the door. Kylen also left, heading for his little enclosure near the town's border. Even as he arrived, he could see the enemy approaching.

The Abbott's troops weren't as large as he feared, but they still outnumbered his own. Kylen allowed them to approach until he could make out the abbot…no…abbess's face. He let loose a low Robin whistle and almost immediately he heard the twang of around a hundred bows. The arrows flashed in the failing light before nestling themselves in the dirt near the enemy legion. The abbess held out a hand and the soldiers halted before the field of arrows. Kylen got to his feet, starting towards the enemy.

"Hail, Abbess of Tultari! I am Colonel Kylen of His Majesty's Royal Army. I am under orders to request that you proceed no farther." If the abbess recognized his name, she gave no indication. In fact, she gave no indication of even hearing him until she replied.

"I am Abbess Sheena, and I have no intention of turning back with my tail between my legs. Your king has much to atone for, and I seek to help him do so. An eye for an eye and all that."

"A wise man once said that an eye for an eye leaves the world blinded. Surely you would hear his logic if not mine?"

"If we do not blind the offender, he may yet blind again. It is necessary to remove the head of the serpent to prevent another bite. Now, if our banter has concluded, I would ask that you would step aside instead." Kylen drew his sword, signaling the archers to fire the next volley. As they readied their arrows, he began to back away.

"Not as long as I hold this sword."

"Then I will enjoy prying it from your stiff cold fingers!" Sheena snarled as she raised her rod. It was adorned with a large red ruby surrounding a smaller blue sapphire. Just as she did so, however, the volley was released. It arched, but angled down towards Sheena and her party. "Mikal!" She turned towards the young caster, but she needn't have even said his name. His rod was held high and, even though his hood was covering his face, she could see his eyes glowing white with the spell he was casting. The pearl flashed and the arrows stopped short, held aloft in mid flight. Mikal shoved his rod into the dirt and the arrows reversed their course, raining back on the archers who fired them. Kylen cursed to himself as he raised his sword. Force A emerged from the shadows of Pyth Laeorem, shouting at the top of their lungs. Kylen ran with the surge, acting as the point of the wave. Sheena's forces formed ranks, Holy Guard out front, casters in back. The two armies collided in a clash of steel and screams. People were dying and blood sloshed freely onto the hard dirt. The sun was just setting, casting a red pallor over the world to match the carnage of this particular moment, as if in reverence to the importance of the conflict.

Kylen plunged sword first into the enemy lines, blade dancing like a wisp among the fens. It became a blur, untraceable if not for the streaks of blood marking its path. He fought with the focus of making it to Sheena. If he felled their leader, the rest should panic and hopefully fall back. A caster came before him, rod raised. Kylen slashed and moved on, but something was wrong. The sword hadn't actually made contact! Kylen spun, readying his blade once more. The caster's rod bore a single large pearl, marking him as the caster who had just earlier reversed the arrows.

"You! You cost me a lot of good men with that trick of yours."

"And your king cost me an Archbishop. I would call us even, but I fear I hold his life in higher regard than yours or your men." Kylen paused, momentarily taken back by the caster's voice. Surely it was just a side effect of casting white magics that his voice sounded so…young. There was no way the church would send mere children to fight.

"We aren't responsible for his death, but I'm afraid I won't be able to say the same about yours!" Kylen started with a heavy overhead swing. Mikal instinctively raised the rod to block and Kylen smiled. That piece of gilded wood wouldn't be able to stand up to his weighted blade. The two weapons made contact and Kylen was blasted back! Mikal followed the defense spell with white fire. Kylen split the fire to either side with his sword edge, inadvertently burning two fighters behind him, although he couldn't tell if they were friend or foe. Mikal stopped the fire as the spell ended, twirling his rod in preparation of round 2. Kylen went for another overhead slice, but ducked under the rod to take off Mikal's knees. Instead of meeting flesh, however, Kylen's blade passed through Mikal's body like mist. The caster wielded the astral slide! He gritted his teeth as Mikal disappeared completely. Kylen remained still, biding his time until Mikal reappeared. Instinct saved Kylen more than anything, as the instantaneous reemergence of his current foe startled him into ducking. A ray of pure light shot from the pearl, completely disintegrating another fighter caught in the collateral blast. Kylen gracefully turned his dodge into a forward leap. His sword shot forward, as if with a mind of its own. The point drove into Mikal's rod, forcing him back. It was Mikal's misfortune to, at that exact moment, stumble over the scorched bodies from before. Kylen took this to his advantage, piercing again. The sword hit the mark, driving through Mikal's throat. The sword's path also snagged the hood, pulling it back. Kylen stopped dead still in shock at the face revealed to him. A young boy of only fourteen or fifteen stared back at him with eyes widening with his own mortality. Mikal fell to the ground, holding his throat. Kylen rushed to the caster's side, forgetting all about the battle still raging around him. The world was drowned out around him as he focused on the young man.

"How can it be? Is the church really so desperate as to send mere babes to die? What…what have I done?" Kylen just sat with Mikal's head in his lap. Already the young Shepherd's eyes were clouding over with Death's cold embrace. He gasped once, but only managed a half hearted gurgle as he finally passed. Kylen bowed his head, tears of shame beginning to form in the pits of his eyes. People fought, and people died, but Kylen paid them no attention.

- - - - - - - -

Sheena fought ferociously, sending waves of fire cascading through the enemy ranks. If any got too close she would simply toss them aside with a flick of her rod. A single sword managed to reach her, making a small gash on her left arm. She turned in anger towards the soldier and blasted him into nothingness, her eyes flashing blue and red alternatively with every spell. More enemies rammed into the fight from either side, spears flailing. Many of the spearmen bore arrow wounds from Mikal's spell. Then these new soldiers must be the archers from before! The spearmen were hitting her forces from both sides while the swordsmen were fighting in the center. Her forces had been divided then surrounded with the utmost efficiency. Despite her superior manpower, her troops were still tired from the march, and demoralized from so many casualties. A retreat was in order, while some of her force still lived. Maybe the Abbey had changed their minds. It was a risk she would have to take. She called for the retreat as she lifted herself into the air. Better to live another day and ensure the King's eventual downfall. This Kylen also deserved a less than pleasant death. But it could wait for another day, as the battle had already been lost.

- - - - - - - -

Kylen wandered among the dead and dying, clutching tightly to Mikal's rod. He couldn't hear any of the pleas for help. He couldn't hear Mao calling for him, or Zaion yelling orders. All he could think of was Mikal's eyes widening in shock. Why would the church send fighters so young? Did they really intend for this massacre? Was the king responsible? Why was Mateu afraid of mere children? Did the king know this would happen? What was Kylen supposed to do now? Return to Ocoristo as a hero and receive an ill-earned promotion? No! Never! Killing youths wasn't the mark of a General. Killing youths was the mark of an outcast! So that is what he must become.

Kylen began to walk. Away from the murder, away from the army, away from the King, and away from the life he once knew.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

Two days had passed since the massacre at Pyth Laeorem, and still Kylen walked. His stomach gurgled hungrily and his entire body was wracked with pain, but he still didn't care. He just kept walking. In attempts to avoid contact with other people, he had set out in a southeast direction from Pyth Laeorem. He would avoid his old regiment, shoot off to the side of Sheena's forces, and hopefully die out here in the wastes before reaching Cherjio. That way none would mourn his passing, and no one else would suffer by his hand. Kylen looked up just as a gust of wind blew more sand into his eyes. The wastes were acting weird today; the sun was hiding behind the sheet of clouds covering the sky, winds broke the normally calm air, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. If, to top off the differences, those clouds should contain one of the rare storms of the wastes, Kylen would be hard pressed to avoid being soaked. He rubbed his eyes to try and remove a layer of sand. He was having trouble seeing where he was going with the unusual winds and his inability to focus. Dehydration was starting to take its toll.

A single drop of rain plopped in front of him, leaving a dark stain on the yellowed earth. Another drop landed on the dirt, followed by a second and a third. Soon all of the Daeil Wastes were buried under a deluge of water. Kylen had no qualms about walking in the rain. It washed away the sand from his eyes, clearing the path ahead. Despite the cool fresh water falling around him, and in spite of his own safety, he refused to open his mouth. Dehydration would take him and Death would release him from his guilt. Kylen slipped on a slick stretch of mud, tumbling to the still-hard ground. His head slammed into a rock with a sickening crunch. His high tolerance of pain from his soldier training saved him from losing conscience, but his vision still swam. He tried to regain his footing, but failed. Tried again, but still couldn't manage. As the rain battered him, Kylen laid his head back down. Blood trickled down his face, dripping into the small rivulets of rainwater. So much for the idea that soldiers never bled. Kylen rolled to his side, curling into a ball around the Rod he still carried. He clung to it with the last of his strength as he lost consciousness and surrendered to his fate.

Morning came, and the downpour had been reduced to a mere drizzle. Even so, Mao tightened his coat around his shoulders. He was cold, wet, and hungry, but dedicated. He had eaten very little since finding the tracks leading from the battle. He couldn't spare the time, and he refused to risk losing the path. This trail was his last hope of keeping his promise to Kylen. Mao hadn't even stopped during last night's deluge. He remembered seeing a lone shadow walking in the night, but it had vanished with the torrential rains. Mao squinted, still searching for his lost mentor. A few buzzards circled up ahead. The young soldier eased the bow from his shoulder and pulled his last arrow from his quiver. Utilizing Zaion's training, Mao quickly strung the bow, notched the arrow, pulled the weapon taught, and released in a fluid motion. Truly, Mao was an exceptional student, learning so much skill in such a short time.

The arrow flew true, felling one of the vultures and scaring away the rest from their meal. Mao hurried to the bird's carcass, not even sparing a glance towards the soon-to-be-meal that was already shining red with blood. Even as he retrieved the bird, curiosity overcame him. Not many creatures that size could survive this deep in the wastes. Mao took a peek towards the dead carcass, then did a doubletake. That wasn't all blood, it was Royal armor! It was Kylen! Mao dashed to his officer's side, forgetting all about the vultures. He rolled Kylen to his back. There 

was a large gash on Kylen's head from striking a rock, and his lips were dry and cracked. Mao placed his ear near the Colonel's lips, checking for signs of life.

A beat of pulse. A long raspy breath. Kylen still lived!

Mao lifted Kylen into a sitting position. He took his canteen, recently refilled from the rain, and washed out Kylen's wound. He then ripped off his sleeves, using the cloth as a bandage. Once that was completed, he hesitantly placed a little bit of water on Kylen's lips. Kylen coughed, but drank. Even so, he was still in no condition for traveling. Mao sighed as he replaced the canteen. Mao stood and stretched his limbs. It would be difficult walking to Cherjio with Kylen in tow, but a promise was a promise. Mao removed Kylen's armor, revealing the leather tunic underneath. It was wet with blood and rain, but it would still keep him warm. Mao also tried to take the Rod the Kylen was clutching, but the half-dead hero wouldn't release it.

"Kylen? It's me, Mao! I need to get you to Cherjio, you're hurt badly. Before I can do that however, I need you to lose the Rod." Kylen half raised his head, but his fatigued eyes were still sealed shut. He managed a single raspy "No" before losing consciousness again. Mao sighed again, prying Kylen's hands from the magic staff. He placed the Rod in his newly emptied quiver before pulling Kylen up. Whatever the reasons Kylen may have, Mao may as well humor them. He slumped Kylen's limp body over his shoulders and readied himself for the upcoming march. Cherjio was still a day or two away, and then only if he was lucky. He was low on food, low on water, cold, wet, and hungry. But he had kept his promise so far, and he was determined to see it through.

Mao began to march, leaving the fallen bird to its brethren. The other vultures already started to gather, expecting food. They didn't care about what their meal used to be, only what it was now. There was no honor among thieves…

In the Royal City of Ocoristo, Zaion sat in a finely decorated chair. He was in full armor except for his weapons. They weren't allowed here in the King's Audience Chamber. He sighed and tried to wipe away some of the dirt on his armor. He hadn't had enough time to wash or rest since his arrival. He had arrived with the remaining troops and was immediately summoned by none other than Rylynt himself. He was asked to wait in this overly decorated room with this uncomfortable chair with no indication of how long the wait would be.

The room itself was, as mentioned before, overly decorated. Expensive tapestries hung on the walls, half obscured by curtains and veils of various colors. The floor was covered entirely by a busy carpet that made the observer dizzy after long scrutiny. Even the doors were carved and painted by a master workman. It was originally intended as a show of wealth for visiting dignitaries, but it was rarely used anymore. It seemed that this luxurious room was now reserved for filthy soldiers making their reports. A door, barely visible among the distracting décor, opened quickly. Rylynt hurried through, followed by King Mateu. Rylynt was holding a handful of papers. Zaion stood and bowed, trying to make the top half of his body completely horizontal while his lover half remained vertical. It was difficult in full armor, but he managed as best he could. The King waved his hand, motioning Zaion to rise.

"You are Zaion, Colonel Kylen's second in command, correct?"

"That is correct, your highness."

"You may call me Mat. I find that small informalities generate more trust and comfort among my constituents. Now, make your report."

"Yes sir, Mat. We arrived at Pyth Laeorem earlier that morning, setting up camp and moving the locals. Kylen gathered the leaders together near an abandoned fruit stand, telling us the plan." Rylynt interrupted, his normal angry look once again contorting his features.

"Why would you ever go to someplace like Pyth Laeorem? The only people that live there are rural folk and pilgrims waiting for a convoy."

"Exactly!" Zaion snapped, "It's the first place that members of the Abbey would want to go. It's out of the way, it has religious significance, and it marks the shortage path from Tultari to Ocoristo. Now may I continue please?" Rylynt turned beet red and Mat barely contained his laughter, but neither spoke up. Zaion stared daggers at Rylynt for a few more moments, but finally returned to his report. "Now, we were expecting the Abbess to arrive shortly before dusk, so we wanted to stop her before she entered the town itself. This would put the sun at our backs and in their eyes. We knew they would be tired from traversing the wastes, giving us another advantage. Kylen split us into two forces, A and B. Force A consisted of the swordsmen holding the front lines, B of the Archers in back. I led B, and Kylen personally led A. We were ordered to fire a warning shot to stop the enemy and hopefully instill fear." At this point, Rylynt interrupted again.

"Why warn them that you plan to fire arrows? Why not just go for kill from the beginning? The initial surprise might have taken more of their fighters out and evened the score a little." Zaion stood abruptly, reaching for the sword that was no longer at his side. Mat waved at him to sit, turning towards Rylynt.

"If the show of force was successful, bloodshed could've been avoided altogether. Better to hope for the best and plan for the worse. Kylen had the right idea. Now if you don't mind, I would hear him finish this tale."

"Aye," Zaion growled, "The men are talking. Silence yourself lest I find out once and for all if I can remove a head from a body with just my bare hands." Rylynt shrunk in his chair, trying his best to blend into the furniture and avoid Zaion's wrath. After a moment's pause, Zaion continued. "Kylen started negotiations, but they must have failed since he ordered us to fire again for the kill. The volley was released, but their damnable magic managed to turn it back on us. We lost a good number of soldiers, but it wasn't a crippling blow. As Force A charged up the middle, B split into two groups. My group circled around to the north while the other group, led by our protégé Mao, circled to the south. Once Kylen had split the enemy into two, we smashed into their flanks in the pincer formation. After heavy losses on both sides, their Abbess finally retreated into the wastes with her tail between her legs. We scoured the bodies for any wounded, but we found no trace of Kylen. Mao entered the wastes following a set of tracks leading southeast. I doubt Kylen would've abandoned us. More likely he was overwhelmed by their filthy magic." The King nodded thoughtfully, carefully going over all the facts in his head.

"I see. Thank for your report. I suppose we must wait and see what the church does about this attack. Surely this was not their bidding. In Kylen's absence, you are the likeliest choice for the rank of General. A short ceremony will be permitted, but nothing too lavish in respect of the fallen. Make sure that our troops are more prepared in case of another attack." Rylynt resumed his normal posture to, literally, risk his neck and input a little more to the conversation.

"Might I ask why we don't just attack Tultari now? We could easily take them over and finally control all of Thesonyos." Zaion was obviously resisting the urge to strangle the king's advisor. He settled instead for enlightening the counselor without any attempts at hiding his 

distaste.

"Weren't you listening earlier, worm? Better hope for the best and plan for the worst. A war helps no one. If I may be so bold, Mat, might I ask why you keep this brainless warmonger at your side?" Mat laughed, but regained control quickly. The smile never managed to leave his face.

"Despite his uselessness in politics, Rylynt has his uses at times. He follows orders and is good with children, making him perfect for watching the prince. I dread the day he ever has to rule in my stead, but he does try. To answer you more precisely, Rylynt, a war would be catastrophic for all involved. The people would resent losing their faith, and all the churches would close. Common healers would disappear, taking the glue of the communities with them. Villagers would likely riot over the smallest of trivialities and we would lose many of our soldiers to quell the uprisings. We would win, yes, but also would we lose. Damage would be dealt from which we could never recover. This is also assuming we would be fickle enough to ignore the peace our two parties have enjoyed to mutual benefit for many a generation." The king paused, as if there were more results that he would rather not delve into. "Enough of these musings and would-be foretelling. Let us eat before continuing on with our respective businesses." Mat stood, followed immediately by both of his subjects. They adjourned to the meal, and more pleasant conversation.

The Abbey was in an uproar. Papers flew as Abbots and Abbesses yelled. Shepherds ran about the circular room, dodging upturned chairs and weaving about the wooden desks as they attended to their superiors. A single woman stood in the depressed center, head bowed in shame. She remained perfectly still despite being battered by many of the objects flying about. Two soldiers stood to either side, blocking as much of the airborne ammo as possible. Finally, after many moments another Abbess stood in her chair. Everyone started to quiet down as whispers of "Haley" began to go around. The woman had an air of quiet strength, and a look of agelessness. She wore her hood up enough to cover most of her braided brown hair. A single amethyst rested on her forehead, held suspended by a simple golden chain that glittered in the steady white light of the magic-infused torches. After the loss of Archbishop Elias, many flocked to her unwavering personality and strong character for guidance. Now she was seen as the shoe-in for the Archbishop position pending the reading of the will. She held up a single hand and slowly blinked as the entire room stilled.

"Come now, brothers and sisters. Surely what our sister Sheena has done doesn't warrant such malice and unrest. Do we not preach forgiveness? Would we then forsake our own teachings for the sake of punishment?"

"Of course we teach and preach of forgiveness. It has always been that way." An Abbot had also risen to his feet. It was Raide, one of the more pragmatic Abbots present. Although he was on the same platform as Haley, he stood head and shoulders above her. His black hair was spiked, revealing the ruby earring hanging from his left ear. "But we cannot look away from this barefaced disdain of our rules and practices. Sheena is also an Abbess, and her warpath not only forced her into hypocrisy, but also cost us a number of good members of the Church. One such member was the first Pearl Shepherd we've had in decades!" Murmurs passed about the Shepherds in attendance as they remembered their comrade. "Despite our tolerance for 

individuality and our tendencies of forgiveness, her transgressions cannot be shrugged off!" Haley turned towards the speaker, a single eyebrow raised in a questioning arc.

"Then, by punishing her, you would condemn every soul here to the same fate through the very accusations you now bring up? Can you so easily point the finger whilst naught but a mirror lies in front of you?" Raide was taken aback by Haley's statement, but he recovered quickly.

"Am I now being accused? Do I stand before you all with my status and life hanging on the line as my head hangs similarly in shame? What she has wrought in recent days could have very easily spelled the end of Tultari! If the King should take her attack as an act of war, we could very well awaken tomorrow with the Royal hounds sniffing at our bedposts! Not to mention her blatant disregard for the decisions of this council. We agreed," he paused, looking at the gathering before his eyes returned to Haley, "you agreed, that no offensive action should be brought against the King for the same reasons I now reiterate. The safety and preservation of the church must be first!"

"So you say we should preserve the church with the same breath that encourages us to break its foremost tenet? What hope is there in preserving a church that should already be so corrupted by the very people from whom a leader should be chosen? Surely, Sheena has wrought terrible things in the past days, but her punishment should be her own to choose. It is not for us to bring judgment upon her. As a member of this Abbey, she is capable of choosing her own fate." Raide slammed a hand down on his desk.

"Aye, and she has! She formed her fate in the fiery forge of bitter, unwarranted revenge. If you believe the Abbey to be so corrupt, why do you remain? Pity? Is that not a judgment in and of itself? No, I for one believe this Church is worth saving. I believe that there is a way to ensure our teachings for generations to come. We should 'allow' Sheena to 'leave' the Abbey." Raide emphasized the words 'allow' and 'leave,' making his point clearer. Even before his voice ceased, shouts began to resume. Raide raised a single hand to regain the floor. "In this manner she effectively punishes herself, we prove to the king that her objectives do not represent the wishes of the church, and we avoid the so called 'corruption' that has apparently begun to eat us alive." Haley leaned over her desk, moving for the first time since she stood earlier.

"Pity? Do you truly believe that pity is the only notion binding me here? I will admit that I do in fact pity some of the more…muleheaded—" Haley was interrupted by none other than Sheena.

"I'll do it." Sheena raised her head and looked directly at the now stunned Raide. "I will leave Tultari if it means saving the Church." Haley's eyes narrowed and her voice was quieted with a solemn tone.

"Do you realize the weight of your words? The finality of this decision?"

"Yes, and I impose this punishment willingly upon myself." Haley sighed in reluctance.

"Then we will verily lose someone who has progressed far along the path to salvation. Abbess Sheena, you are hereby relieved of your title. You are no longer a member of this Abbey. You are reminded that you are unable to rejoin the church and can no longer use the knowledge you have gleaned under the Church's tutelage. Please return your robes and Rod to the storeroom to be reused. In this way, you will still remain as a part of our dealings. Upon your leaving, we will grant you a small boon with which you may begin a new life. You are released." At the word 'released,' every member present rose. "The Abbey will recess, in memory of the lost and the departing; may they find rest and relief wherever they go."

Sheena left the Abbey, not knowing what she would do or even where she would go. The 

path she had chosen had failed miserably, but she raised her chin and left the Abbey as a proud Abbess for the final time.

Six days had passed since the battle of Pyth Laeorem, three since Mao had found Kylen, and a single day since Sheena's dismissal. Mao was still trudging along. Kylen had been getting progressively worse. He had developed a fever and his head wound had already begun to get infected. But there was nothing that could be done for him here. Mao stopped, wiping the sweat from his eyes. The wastes had returned to their normal blazing climate. He squinted at a mirage ahead. His eyes were already dried out and were therefore prone to trickery. Mao used his free hand to reach for the canteen before he remembered that is was still empty. He sighed and continued on. The closer he traveled towards the mirage, the more he started to realize that it was, in fact, a city.

"Cherjio?!" He let out a whoop as he doubled his pace. "We've finally made it, Kylen!" Mao had talked to Kylen the entire trip without getting a response, save for that first day. He tried anyway. "We've finally made it! You're going to be just fine."

Mao stumbled into the city edge, getting stares from everyone nearby. He took a glance around before his eyes settled on a nearby Church steeple. That would work! Headpriests were known for their herbal prowess, and a city the size of Cherjio should have at least one Headpriest, if not two! Mao raced over to the decorated doors and began to beat on them unmercifully. A small, meek young girl of seventeen opened the door quickly. She wore the dark blue Priestess robes, marking her as an assistant for the local Headpriest. This particular priestess had very light brown hair that traveled halfway down her back. When she noticed Kylen, she let out a little gasp, her large aqua-marine eyes widening in shock.

"Quickly, bring him inside!" She turned towards the inner sanctum, calling out the name of someone named Raltem. A cat jumped from a nearby table and rubbed against the Priestess's leg. She stroked it once before picking it up. She turned back to Mao, a look of confidence beginning to set on her soft face. "Set him over there on that table." She leaned in towards the cat and whispered "Fetch Rexea." She tossed the cat into the air as it changed into a hawk and flew out the door. Mao couldn't help but stare in amazement, wondering exactly what had just happened. The girl tossed Mao a nearby towel as she started to pour water into a collection plate. Mao finally found his voice.

"Can…can you help him?" The young priestess placed a wet rag on Kylen's forehead and a thin blanket over his body.

"This is out of my power, I'm afraid. All I can do is make him more comfortable. I sent Raltem, my familiar, to fetch a Headpriest. This soldier is in bad shape, though. He might not last that long. Do you pray…?" She ended the last sentence as a question about his religiousness and his name.

"I'm Mao, and no"

"My name is Priestess Jocelyn, but call me Josie. Well, Mao, it's never too late to start praying. Headpriestess Rexea should be here shortly, but there is nothing else I can do here. I'm sorry." She turned away, walking quickly to a pew for prayer.

Mao stood, dumbfounded by how fast things had just happened. He felt helpless, cast aside in his uselessness. Questions raced through his head. Will Kylen survive? Where did a simple priestess acquire a familiar? Should he also get checked out? Was he allowed to interrupt 

her prayer? Should he also pray? Finally, he decided that anything was better than just standing there. He got to his knees and bowed until his head touched the floor. Before he actually started a prayer, however, the Rod slid from his quiver and rolled only the floor with a loud clack and a flash of white. Mao stared at the rod for a moment, surprised. He had completely forgotten about the staff. He retrieved the Rod gingerly, gripping it with both hands about halfway down the wooden handle. He stood, placing the pearl over Kylen's head. Mao closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer.

_Please let this work._

Mao reopened his eyes as the pearl started to glow. Josie gasped, rising to her feet. The pearl began to glow brighter, casting shadows in the brightly lit church. A rabbit bounded through the door, followed by a tall woman in dark blue robes laced with gold trim. The pearl became blindingly bright, hurting Mao's eyes. Then, just as the light imploded back into the Rod, Mao was hurled backwards into the stone wall. He heard the Priestess and the Headpriestess rush to his side as a purring cat nudged his hand. Muffled voices echoed around him as he slowly blacked out. His last thought was that Josie was right about it never being too late…


	5. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

North of Ocoristo, in the vermin-riddled marshes of the Altion Penconst, an almost unknown leader sat on a hidden throne. It wasn't a throne given by birth, but one earned by skill. The throne belonged to the single greatest thief in all of Thesonyos, for the kingdom it ruled was that of the thieves' guild. The person who sat on that throne was known only as Xyron. He was a whisper among the crowd, a rumor of the paranoid. He was a tale told to frighten children into submission. Do your chores or the Guild will steal you away forever. Very few ever met the real Xyron, and fewer still met him and lived. He wasn't a murderer by any stretch of the imagination, but secrecy was a trait that thieves held in high regard.

Xyron was a good ruler, for a mere whisper. Never before had the thieves known such prosperity. They operated all over the globe, acting as spies, thieves, muggers, assassins, and hitmen. Xyron alone had organized the combined talents of every outlaw in Thesonyos for the betterment of the rest. He knew how to get past any lock, guard, spell or ward. He personally made sure every thief was responsible for their own endeavors, while simultaneously coordinating each strike to prevent individual attacks from coinciding. He was truly a great leader.

There was, however, a slight snag. Someone had managed to pull of the biggest assassination to date, and he or she didn't follow the crest of the Guild. Was it an individual effort? Was it personal? Was there a new force on the rise to come into conflict with the guild? His mind was racing. He leaned back in his makeshift throne. It was all just a symbol anyway. It wasn't supposed to be fancy, just comfortable. The budget had no room for a gilded chair that no one would ever see. Xyron's eyes were closed, but his eyes were darting around behind his eyelids. His long black bangs stopped just above the eyes, unlike the rest of his hair that coursed, uninhibited, down the nape of his neck.

A light hand rapped on the doors marking the entrance of his hall. Xyron stood, allowing his long dark cloak to cover the rest of his body. Underneath, his hands traced various straps and cords, checking the condition of his myriad hidden weapons. One can never be too careful in this line of work. The doors opened, and Xyron immediately recognized the figure silhouetted by the light flooding in. The person stood at average height, with pitch black hair sweeping to the left. In the current light, the hair almost had a purple hue. The black clothing he wore contrasted sharply with his pale face. He wore a completely serious expression at all times.

"Sir! You called for me?"

"Yes, Jeremy. Any news about this renegade assassin?"

"No sir, not a word. Whoever it is, they vanished as quickly as they appeared." Xyron sighed and returned to his seat.

"I was afraid of that. What else has been going on?"

"The usual complaints of disappearances and missing children. I've checked all of the records. We aren't taking any of them for ransom or anything of the sort. Perhaps it's just a bad month for people getting lost. Also, I have reports of an Abbess going rogue and leading an assault on Ocoristo." Xyron tensed a little and leaned forward again.

"How far did they get?"

"A small faction of soldiers managed to repel the Abbess at Pyth Laeorem. She was forced to return in shame to the Abbey. Our spies tell me she 'voluntarily' resigned from her position" Xyron thought for a moment.

"Then we need to be prepared. We need eyes on the king in case he takes this opportunity to attack the church. I don't think he would under normal circumstances, but something is amiss."

"But sir! We've tried that! It never works. His royal guards always uncover the truth. They know every person in the palace by heart." Xyron smiled and leaned back on his symbolic chair.

"We never really had any true need for eyes there before. Now that they are required, I shall personally see them installed. In fact, I think your eyes will do just fine." Despite the unexpectedness of Xyron's comment, Jeremy never even flinched. "I have a plan that will require the best talents we can muster. Therefore, I will require both you and Sius to lead."

"Sius and myself, sir? We are your personal attendees! You would be almost defenseless!"

"Who said I was staying here? And I can't believe you have so little faith in my abilities. Now go and make all the necessary preparations." Jeremy turned to leave, but stopped halfway.

"I believe it was you who taught me to never trust someone with their own safekeeping."

"I also taught you that the only time success is assured is when you handle it personally. I'm going and that is final." Jeremy nodded and left hastily as Xyron got to his feet. He had an uneasy feeling about the events of late. People were vanishing into thin air, leaders were being murdered, and none of it was by his hand or order. Something truly was amiss and he planned on finding out what.

- - - - - -

Mao woke, peering about in confusion. Where was he? He sat up and let the blanket covering him slip down, revealing his bare chest and the britches he always wore to bed. The walls were made of dusty sandstone, and had a smooth flow that felt as if the earth had formed naturally into this precise fashion. There was a stale musky taste to the air that nagged at his memory. This all seemed so very familiar. He got to his feet and felt something lightly touch his shoulder. He spun to the side on instinct, reaching out for anything that could be used as a weapon. He stopped when he realized it was actually a little girl holding a staff. Then everything came rushing back to him. He was in a Church of Cherjio! He had been here for weeks, waiting for his mentor Kylen to recover. In the meantime, the Headpriest Rexea had been personally overseeing his training with the staff that this little girl now held. He peered at the girl. She was very young, as she appeared to be only five or six summers old. She wore long black hair and a tan colored dress. She had the strangest eyes Mao had ever seen, as they were pitch black. There was no color to her irises and the whites of her eyes weren't readily visible if they were there at all. She extended an arm, holding out the staff to Mao. He took it cautiously, still half dazed from his recent slumbering. The girl giggled and jumped up on his bed. She began bouncing around joyfully; paying no more attention to the young man on whose bed she now danced. A rap came at the door and it opened quickly, giving way to Josie, the young priestess that resided here. The little girl jumped from the bed, transforming into the cat form that Mao easily recognized. Josie looked furious as she picked up her familiar.

"Raltem! So this is where you've been hiding all this time. You had me sick with worry!" She looked up as if just noticing the half naked man in the room. Mao immediately blushed as he tried in vain to find some clothing to cover himself with. Josie just looked back down at the now-purring cat. "You haven't been bothering Mao here, have you?" At the mention of his name, Mao's stomach tightened into a knot. Why did he always feel like this around her? He shook his head to clear his thoughts, only to look up and find Josie staring at him questioningly.

"Ah, um…uh…"

"Acolyte Mao? Why are you not up and dressed? If you don't hurry, Headpriestess Rexea will start your lessons before you even get breakfast!" Josie seemed very calm, like normal. She gave no indication of any semblance of what Mao was feeling.

"Ah, right. I'll be down in a minute." Satisfied, Josie turned and left, still scolding her familiar. Mao threw on the traditional white-and-light-blue Acolyte robes. He then raced downstairs to the kitchens, where he managed to snag a piece of bread. There were plenty of preserves and salted meats, but Mao never ate much breakfast. Instead, he chewed half-heartedly on his bread as he made his way to Kylen's room. Although Mao's commander had survived that terrible trek through the desert, Kylen still remained unconscious. Every morning Mao would run down here to check on him. Mao lived upstairs of course, near the bell that he was required to ring on the days of mass. Those days were always Mao's favorites, because they got him out of Rexea's training. Today, unfortunately, wasn't one of those days.

Mao opened the door to enter, and light flooded the sparsely decorated room. Despite Mao's hopes, Kylen remained motionless on the bed. That first night, Mao had done something, but apparently it wasn't enough. He had miraculously saved Kylen's life only to put him into a coma. Rexea said that it could be a side effect from his unfamiliarity with casting. This was also her main argument for drafting Mao into her insane training program. In any case, Mao never gave up hope that Kylen would either come to, or Rexea would finally drill enough training into him that he could reverse whatever he had done.

Kylen rested peacefully, as if dreaming of friends long since passed. Mao took a seat in a chair, holding the Rod with both hands. He was still unsure why Kylen had left, but he was sure it had something to do with this Rod. Did the caster use it to possess Kylen? Did Kylen simply get flung to the side with this weapon still in hand? Mao had considered breaking the relic, in hopes that the destruction of the tool might remove the spell, but he couldn't risk losing the last real clue he had. The door to the room burst open and a woman barged in. If the demeanor wasn't enough of a giveaway, the dark blue and gold robes allowed Mao to immediately recognize Headpriestess Rexea. She immediately set her eyes on him, starting over with purpose in her step and anger in her eyes.

"You're late, Acolyte! I should've known to find you here." She grabbed him by the arm and nearly threw him out the door. "If you wish to save your friend, you must first learn how to better cast. Only then could you possibly reverse the harm you've done. Hurry! We don't have all the time in the world! You must be ready!" Mao was stumbling to keep ahead of the Headpriest.

"Ready for what?" Rexea glared at him and he hastily added: "Maam."

"We are going to Tultari soon. I plan to have you raised to Deacon there." Deacons were the next rank up from Acolyte, and only one step below Shepherd. It was also considered one of the most difficult ranks to attain or progress from. Every training session was so difficult that someone either quit or was asked to leave. There were even rumors of deaths, but none were proven.

"I'm not ready to be a Deacon yet!"

"Exactly, which is why you need more training!" Mao squinted as they emerged outside, his response temporarily put aside with the distraction. The sun was already rising, burning away the cool mist of morning. Cherjio was strategically placed just south of the Daeil wastes, receiving the benefits of cooler mornings and evenings to counter the blazing hot days. The sun's rays lit up the garden that they were standing in, reflecting off the surface of the nearby pond. Josie was already seated among the herbs, searching for anything useful as she hummed a tune to herself. Rexea barely even noticed the young Priestess, only acknowledging her in dismissal. "Josie, go tend to our guest before you resume your private trainings." Josie's trainings where held separately from Mao's, so he wouldn't attempt anything beyond his level. As he thought about it, simply having the dedication, commitment, and maturity for self-training was probably beyond his level. Josie got to her feet, motioning towards the pond. A fish jumped high into the air, turning into a hawk mid-jump. Raltem then flew over, perching on Josie's extended arm. A sharp whack on the back of Mao's head informed him that Rexea was ready to resume training.

"Focus, Mao! We will never be able to get you to Deacon if you're too busy fantasizing about young girls." Mao blushed.

"But I wasn't-"

"Doesn't matter! Now, why are we here?" Mao sighed and prepared himself. He couldn't tell if Josie had heard or not, but she was leaving as if nothing had even happened. He assumed she hadn't heard, but he never could tell about her. He brought his attention back to Rexea. These trainings always started with the same questions. He had long since committed the answers to memory, but he strained to recall them now. Rexea tapped her foot impatiently.

"Because the One Being took pity on a barren planet and gave it life."

"Correct. What do we take from this?

"All life is sacred and should be protected at any cost. Our choices should always depend on the greater good, not what's good for us personally."

"Correct. Why do we always strive for the betterment of good?"

"So that one day we may rejoin Him and rejoice in His glory."

"Correct. Now we may start your training." Mao relaxed a little. He always had trouble reciting the lines; mostly because he wasn't entirely sure he believed them. What being had enough power to populate an entire world on a whim? Rexea walked over to a cage and opened it. She reached in and pulled out a small bird. It was lying still, barely breathing. Rexea held it out, gently, to Mao.

"What am I supposed to do? It looks…it looks sick."

"It is. It was stung by a scorpion, but I happened across it before it died. I've managed to stabilize it and bandage the wound. Now I need you to heal it." Mao started to protest, but decided against it. He hadn't managed to sway Rexea once since he had gotten here.

"How?"

"Just focus on happier times. Eventually, you will learn to Cast without aid, but for now just remember laughter, smiles, and friends. Once you have those firmly in your mind, imagine the bird chirping in a tree high above." Mao nodded and gripped the Rod he now carried with him everywhere. He lowered his head and focused. A memory came, unbidden, to his mind. One that seemed like so long ago. A memory of a courtyard with a small fountain gurgling in the corner and crickets chirping just outside. A courtyard where he had gone to watch Kylen and Zaion practice. Where he eventually learned how to fight and where he was to be assigned. The Rod that once belonged to the Shepherd Mikal started glowing in Mao's hands. He didn't notice, he was too busy remembering all the times he had laughed with his teachers, amazed at how easily they managed to poke fun at each other. He remembered Zaion smiling as he teased Mao about the training regimen of General Joido. An image came to his mind, of a young priestess telling him that 'it's never too late to start praying.' The rod was pulsing brightly now, nearly forcing Rexea to turn away.

"Stop, Mao! That's plenty!" Her loud, commanding voice broke his concentration. He yelped in pain as the Rod flickered out and burned his hands. The rod fell to the ground and scorched the grass it landed on.

"What did I do? Why did you stop me?" Rexea replaced the bird in its cage and secured the latch. Then she walked back over to Mao, grasping his wrists and turning them so the palms faced upward.

"This is your problem, Acolyte. You used way too much mana for such a simple spell. You need to gather the mana, which is focused by the Rod, and then use it immediately. If you hold it for too long, it will backlash!" She retrieved the Rod from the ground and pointed it at his hands. It glowed for a moment and stopped. Mao looked at his hands in amazement.

"But you said that the Priest classes weren't Casters, just laymen and women. How did you do that?" Rexea handed the Rod back to him and looked away.

"I once led a different life. I…preferred the peace of helping citizens to the Politics of Tultari." She took the bird out of the cage once more. "That's all behind me now. Here, try again." Mao focused once more, trying to remember happier times. This time, however, Josie's face was the first thing to appear. The Rod began to glow once more, and Mao could feel the tingling of mana entering his hands. He quickly switched his thoughts to the little bird, twittering happily in a birdbath. He opened his eyes just as the glow of the Rod began to dissipate. The bird was standing, tilting its head to the side as it took in the garden. It let out a single note and flew over to Mao's shoulder. He stared in amazement as it remained there, perfectly content with its perch. Rexea simply smiled.

"Now you're ready for the Deacon's test." Just then, the wooden door behind Mao swung open with a creak. The bird took off into the open sky as Josie exited the doorway. Josie gave the bird a quizzical look before she said a single sentence that filled Mao with hope.

"Headpriestess, he's awake."

- - - - - -

Haley walked with the confidence and dignity of someone in high social standing. It was apparent in both the way she walked and the way she carefully eyed the squalor surrounding her. There was dirt, trash, and human waste all over. She sighed as she stepped over someone lying down in the middle of the alley. No matter how hard the church tried, there would always be rat nests, even here in the heart of Tultari. People with no homes, jobs, or abilities, but enough stubbornness for twelve mules, all banding together just for company in their destitution. They could very easily go to the church for succor, but they prefer their own feces than admitting they needed help. Along with these rarities of society's exile, was an even more exotic outcast: a castaway of the church. These sad excuses could rarely find job openings outside of illegal anti-church activities, and few of these people even sought out such ventures.

But it wasn't for your everyday alleyway grime that Haley had come for. No, this particular person was special. She had been to the very top of the church ranks. She had known what it felt like to wield the Powers of the righteous. Haley had come for her ex-sister, the once-Abbess Sheena. Sheena had worn the robes, but now she wore only rags. She had once eaten with rulers and royalty; now she just ate garbage. She had learned and lived within the walls of the abbey, but now she made her home in the flea-infested gap between two lowbrow inns.

Haley finally found her target, but only because of Sheena's eyes. The huddled form was barely recognizable with her matted and twisted hair, the filthy rags barely clinging to her gaunt, emaciated frame, and the total lack of modesty as she sat in a pile of her own refuse. But those eyes never wavered as they stared holes through Haley's skull.

"What are you doing here, Haley? Haven't you and those pompous jackals done enough? Or are you here to take what's left of my meager existence?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I actually have a proposition for you. But first, well…how have you been?" Sheena laughed, mirthlessly.

"How have I been? How have I been!? How do you think? I'm squatting in an alley, starving and freezing. I am completely broke and I have no chance of finding a job. I'm going to die in this godforsaken abyss of self imposed and unavoidable irreversible deprivation! THAT is how I'm doing." A rat scurried by, but Sheena quickly snatched it up and broke its neck with her hands. She ripped back the skin and buried her face into the bloodied meat revealed. Haley turned her head and nearly gagged. Sheena paused her meal and sneered at the Abbess's reaction. "I'm sorry, _Sister_, am I making you uneasy? Is it difficult looking into the face of your own creation? Am I that repulsive to you? Why should you care about me anyway? You and the rest of the Abbey are perfectly content sitting around doing nothing, waiting for your problems to disappear." Haley had a hand over her mouth and waited a few moments, but still managed to formulate a response.

"That is exactly why I've come. Despite your rash, headstrong, and rather impulsive nature, I've found that you have a tendency of always completing what you set out to do. I believe that the Abbey forced you into this…"

"Squalor? Disgrace? Indignity?"

"…Lifestyle, unfairly. You are a powerful caster and an unbelievably devout Abbess. You don't deserve exile. I, in turn, have need of more impetuousness, so I'm here to offer you a job. That silver tongue of yours may yet serve the church." Sheena eyed Haley with suspicion and a glimmer of hope before she returned to her meal, looking even more dejected.

"Now your lies and falsehood is apparent, O Salter of Wounds. You know as well as I that I can no longer be considered in any of the church's ventures. This silver tongue can help no one, unless you know of a way to transmute it into true silver. Then I should at least die a well fed mute." She spat a bone to the side, accidentally striking a companion of the alley, who protested loudly before settling back into a heap of trash. Sheena ignored the man as she scraped the hide clean with her finger. "Spare me your false hopes and open mockery. I've no more dignity for you to pilfer."

"Alas, your silver tongue seems to be blocking your wooden ears. _I_ am offering you employment, not the church. They cannot dictate who I keep as my personal confidant. So I ask you one last time. Sheena, will you aid me as my confidant and advisor, or should I check another alleyway?" A few more moments passed as an unsettling silence permeated the air between them. Neither woman blinked or looked away from the confrontation. Finally, as Haley was about to leave, Sheena made a move. She stood, casting aside the rat hide, and extended a blood-spattered hand towards Haley.

"This silver tongue is at your service as long as you require it, my Abbess." Haley kept her left hand firmly planted over her mouth, as if to miraculously cure her queasiness. With the other, however, she firmly grasped her new employee's hand in a tight handshake. As if on cue, a sharp voice echoed through her mind.

"_Abbots and Abbesses of our holy order, you are being officially summoned to a meeting of most importance. The will of his Holiness has been read and its wishes carried out to the best of our capability. The meet is required of all, as it directly involves each of you. A new dawn approaches and the heir to lead it will be announced anon!_"

Haley shook her head as the last few words still echoed through her skull. Sheena looked on in longing, recognizing the call she had also heeded once. Haley sighed and started towards the road.

"It seems we have less time than I'd hoped. We'd better get you cleaned, fed and dressed properly before your grand return to the Abbey." Haley looked upward, as if contemplating some dire problem. "I don't suppose they'd start without me, would they?" Sheena managed a weak smile as they walked out into the sun-lit streets, and to her life reborn.


	6. Interlude

_**Interlude**_

The assassin watched from a rooftop nearby. He had been observing the Royal Guards for weeks, surviving off of pilfered goods secured from the nearby inn's storehouse. Tonight was the night he would finally, make his move. The assassination of Archbishop Elias had gone smoothly, but this job was going to prove arduous. The master was right to trust this mission to the assassin though. This way the outcome was guaranteed. No one else could match his skill or speed. Not even those cowards in the Thieves Guild, hiding in the swamps en masse for protection. A guardsman came into view, facing from the Palace doorway into the cold, dark night. The assassin ran a hand over his gear, ensuring that everything was tightly bound in place. This task would leave no room for error. The guard ventured a few feet to the right, peering around the corner. He had one hand on the hilt of his sword. Another guard came around the corner, waving at the first. Good, now was the time to strike. The assassin leapt from the rooftop over the palace wall, tumbling a good ten feet. He rolled to his feet, preserving his momentum and transferring it into his sprint. There would only be a few minutes before the rounds would meet again and his opportunity missed. The assassin scaled a tree and ran along a branch. He jumped off, rustling the leaves. The guard, on his way back to the door, stopped to investigate. The assassin's flight path sent him over the guard and straight into the wall. Doing a forward flip to hit feet-first, the assassin used the wall as a springboard to reverse direction. This time, however, he would head straight for the guard. The guard drew his sword and was just about to ask if there was anyone there, but he never got the chance. Not after the assassin landed right on top of him. Thankfully for the guard, he never felt the dagger enter his skull through the small gap in the back of his armor. Nor did he notice as the assassin's weight drove him to the ground. The only thing that he would've regretted would have been the inability to explain to his family what had happened. But this wasn't the assassin's concern. No, he had much bigger fish to fry.

Making his way to the front door, the assassin sheathed his dagger without even wiping the blade. It would need to be replaced anyway after chipping on that guard's skull. He waited for a moment as he held the door handle. He had to time it just right to avoid suspicion. Open it too early and the guard inside would still be watching the door. Too late and the rounds would discover the body. He drew in a breath and released it slowly before pushing the door open. The guard inside had just turned around. Tonight must be his lucky night. The assassin closed the gap and silently drew his blade. Once he was behind the soldier he used his free hand to yank the helmet back. The other raced around front, drawing a clean slice around the exposed neck. The soldier fell to his knees, gurgling. The assassin stepped around briskly, ignoring the dying man as if such things were commonplace. They were, in fact, for one of his profession. A yell came from the lookouts outside. He had been discovered! He silently cursed himself. It was too soon! He ran up the stairs, taking them three and four at a time. According to the plans he had stolen, his target was asleep on the third floor. As the assassin reached the top of the staircase, the door swung open. Acting with blinding speed and reflexes honed to a razor's edge, he slid to the floor headfirst. Both hands wrapped around the soldier's legs and buried the blades they carried into the calf muscles of the emerging sentinel. Without proper muscle control, the guard tumbled down the three flights of stairs, breaking many bones, including a fatal blow to the spine. The assassin simply got up and darted through the doorway. He ran into the hall, hoping that his luck wouldn't turn even further towards the worse. It didn't, and he successfully arrived at his destination: the prince's room. The assassin dashed inside, pulling a large bag from the pouch at his side. The young prince, barely six summers old, was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the trespasser at his bedside. The assassin extracted a small needle and carefully pierced the young heir's skin. Good, now the poison should keep him quiet for the trip back. The prince was enveloped by the assassin's bag, and gingerly slung over the aforementioned killer's shoulder.

As the assassin opened the window and prepared to leap out, the prince's door slammed open. An irritated advisor, known to most as Rylynt, stood stunned in the doorway, mouth agape at the scene before him. The assassin turned to kill the servant, but decided to spare this one man.

"I have a message for your king. If he wants to ever lay eyes on his heir again, he needs to act with haste. A tactical strike into the heart of Tultari is the prince's only chance to live. Should the church fall, we will contact him and set up a meeting. Should he fail, he would best start looking for a woman to bear him another." With the ultimatum delivered, and his mission accomplished, the assassin exited the Royal Palace of Ocoristo and began the trek home. What he didn't realize, however, was that another pair of eyes watched as he landed in the bushes below. Jeremy, right hand of Xyron, had finally acquired his prey. And the hunt would be long indeed…


End file.
